She’s Four

Am I the only one who gets emotional on her kids’ birthdays?

Don’t answer that. Unless you may or may not shed a tear while wrapping gifts and wondering how your child is now {insert age here} years old. Despite my rudimentary knowledge of math and 365 days = 1 calendar year, somehow this passage of time in my kids hits me. Every year.

My daughter turned four yesterday. And I know everyone says this, but seriously — how did this happen?

I so clearly remember sitting in the delivery room the night before she was born, where I was transfixed — or kind of held  hostage — by the nonstop news coverage of Michael Jackson’s memorial service.

And here we are, with a four year-old daughter.

She is a delight.

Smart. Confident. Sensitive. Curious. Funny. Headstrong.

The glint in her eye is some hybrid of mischief and joy.

I call her The Informer.

Or The Sheriff.

And, most days, she is also sunshine.

She takes in everything, studying the interactions around her. Quite simply put: She gets it.

Her love for her older brother is fiercely loyal. She would follow him to the ends of the Earth, even if it meant giving up princesses for ninjas.

And perhaps the jury is still out on how she feels about our newest addition, but I know she’s coming around.

In the weeks leading up to the birth of her younger brother, I had total and sudden anxiety about making her a middle child. About her losing her spot as the baby. And then, after his birth, I worried about her growing up between two boys.

But that worry is fading. Because this seems right to me, her unique spot in the family. Perhaps not just right, but meant to be.

This past year has been a transformation. Her baby face features faded right before my eyes and she grew up more than I could have imagined.

I can’t wait to see who she becomes, what she embraces, where she gravitates. 

Happy 4th Birthday, my sweet girl. The world has great things in store for you.